That Damn Hourglass
by northerlywind
Summary: "Tina was gone forever, like the sand crystals that fell from the shards of his broken heart into the ocean of tears that was streaming down his face." Rated T for some swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Inspiration/idea for this story from 'Generation Glee' by Swamp Fairy, and some inspiration comes from the book Looking for Alaska by John Green. You should read both.

THERE IS A LOT OF ANGST. Just giving you a warning, but there will also be somewhat happier parts. Can't say any more, but it won't be ALL like this, okay?

To my readers from my other stories: TRUST ME I WILL FINISH THIS STORY. It may be delayed because I have exams this week but this time I have a for-sure, definite plan for where this story leads. Also, it can get a little depressing due to the hardcore angst mentioned above, so I don't like to write about that stuff too often.

Rated T for some swearing.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee.

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Artie stared straight ahead as the voice of Tina's father droned on in the background, a tone in his head that registered only as an annoying buzz. He sounded impatient, speaking from a typed speech he barely covered with a casually placed hand on the podium. His other hand held the leg of his wire frames, waving it up and down like a confused orchestra conductor. Artie swallowed, wondering why he was feeling no emotion, no tears, wondering if it was the speech that did it or if he had no tears left in him, as if the plug releasing the ocean, the dam releasing the current was stubbornly _there_. He was afraid his mind had gone numb and was only churning numbers, perhaps only binary, a 1 110 001 101 010 11 0 that was meaningless or maybe in a code he didn't have the answers to. Which sucked because those meaningless figures were just barely keeping his consciousness alive but nothing else besides.

He felt a sharp metal dig into his palms and when his mind processed and executed: turn head, look down, he saw that his hands were digging into the armrests of his chair, his palms slightly damp because of the spring humidity, the mild heat of the wan sun that seemed to mock him. He realized, after a moment, that he was angry. Angry that it was Tina's father, and not him, making that speech, summing up the life of a wild, inexplicably beautiful girl in a few overused clichés. Angry that it wasn't her father that knew her favorite ice cream flavor, or her ticklish spots, or the fact that she liked to sleep on a textbook the day before a big exam in the hope that knowledge would magically seep into her brain overnight... And maybe it did, sometimes, because the gods saw her and smiled upon her, and saw that she was worthy and that she had Greatness, and granted her that.

Somehow Artie's fingers pried themselves free from the sticky surface of the armrests. He realized everyone was standing up, but he could barely see over the suffocating and long-legged mass of uncaring and bored people. When his mind obeyed his wish: turn, crane head, push upwards, lift eyes desperately, he noticed the smatterings of people forming a line. Artie's heart skipped a beat when he realized their intention, and what the line was for. He wished those people who did not care would maybe just magically disappear and he would be able to see her, kiss her, tell her he loved her, and yes that was what the line was for- oh! His fingers, fumbling, found their way back to the armrests, nails digging but he did not process the pain because he was scared, really scared. _Now_ the tears flowed, brought on the the shufflings of feet, the mass of people against that river-dam, the _damn people _who didn't know her, only saw her as a something that was there, in the way, didn't know _her_ as that shining, bright, happy, moody, pouty, Great person she was.

Artie felt his hands obey the only movement he had longed for with all his heart, his poor, empty, hollow heart, covering his wheels, that familiar grip, the pads of his fingers grazing the texturized rubber. He moved from his place in the very back corner, with a chair kicked to the side by somebody, the only place that had room for his wheelchair, and if he could have taken a spot right at the front he would willingly crawl, do anything, but it was too late for that because the line was at a standstill and he was waiting. Waiting for the seemingly never-ending sluggish sloths, dull people compared to her. The tears flitted down both cheeks as if in a race. Perhaps it was a race, a race against time, but how could it be because there _was_ no time left? The hourglass had shattered, the sands scattered, each grain more precious than all the wealth in the world, but now they were all gone, leaving shards of glass as broken as Artie was now. He had thought he had been broken before, but he had been mistaken, because that was just a paper cut that seemed to hurt at first but quickly diminished into nothingness.

The last of them had moved forward, and he pushed forward, his wheels straining and protesting against the carpet, as dull and lifeless as everything else in the room except Tina; _his_ Tina, his precious, and now he imagined himself as Gollum. Oh, but they were too similar, the alikeness striking him like the cruel blows of a rapier, for they had both lost their precious, destroyed and Artie couldn't take anymore, his eyes shutting against the horrible imagery his mind was conjuring up. He felt a thump, his shoulders knocked backwards, his whole body shifting and at first he thought that maybe he had died and it actually wasn't so bad but then his eyes reopened to stares and half a block of gray and he realized he had ran himself into a wall.

He caught a reflection in a gleaming surface, and saw a hunched figure, claws for hands, matted hair, sunken eyes, pale skin and wondered if this was his mind playing tricks on him; if it was Gollum who had come to eat his soul and he thought that maybe he would welcome it. His mind didn't make the connection, like the puzzle was almost solved but there was one missing piece. Artie lost the strength to keep his head upright and he saw his hands, blistered and red because his gloves weren't- He saw his chair and wondered if it collapsed would he fall to the ground and stay there, disintegrating or maybe would there be the feet of those uncaring people stepping on him until he decomposed? He thought maybe he could already feel the maggots eating his insides and felt a push at his back. His mind processed: neck twist, head raise, eyes focus and saw a man but it was not a man, rather it was a ghost of a man, with red rims for eyes and tears for skin and he slowly recognized that it was Mr. Schue.

But he didn't look like himself and Artie wondered if perhaps he didn't look like himself either and that's when he realized he had found the missing piece, and it was the wrong one, misplaced, from another box and you could call the manufacturer again and again, over and over, but you would only either get a dial tone.

"Sorry", he said, almost as a reflex reaction, not sure what he was sorry _for_ but then a second later he wondered if he had said it aloud or just _thought _it and he had only mouthed the words, or not even, and decided it was probably the latter.

"Artie", the ghost-of-a-man said, and he felt himself move forward, and thought maybe the carpet was actually a conveyor belt because he couldn't feel his hands on the wheels- or maybe had they gone numb? But then he realized Mr. Schue was neither in front nor beside him and turned to see him struggling to push the chair. Artie took the wheels again, feeling like he was trudging through a swamp, which was fitting seeing as the carpet was a boring gray-green, only he was going backwards not forwards because it was just wrong, everything was just wrong.

His eyes caught a glimpse of the shining mahogany and wondered how they dressed her, if she was Tina or if they had maybe dyed her blue locks or cut them off, the heartless people they were, and oh God he certainly hoped not. He felt the stares only as dim prods in his consciousness, robotically pushing his wheels forward with all his strength as the line progressed. His heart seemed to quicken with anticipation but that was impossible because it had already stopped beating completely or turned to stone. He felt the pressure on the handles of his chair lessen and his head automatically lifted to see what was the matter and he saw it. Artie saw that they were stairs, and he was angry again, thinking about how much trouble did it really take to just put a stupid ramp on but he felt a hand on his shoulder and he calmed, slumping back in his chair, not even realized he had been straining to lift himself in his flash of sudden and uncontrollable hatred.

He felt nothing again, as if the speech had paralyzed him completely because he couldn't feel the dried tears, only sense them. His hands tightened on his wheels only he wasn't sure what for only that he would get up those stairs if it killed him and maybe it would and it would be good. Artie shivered, feeling a breeze-that-was-not-there, and felt the hands on the handles of his chair again, felt himself tilting backwards, felt himself shake as the two ascended those stairs and even when he reached the top of those three steps he was still shaking. He shivered again, thinking that he probably looked like a madman but what did he care because if they didn't who was he to do so?

Now everyone was watching, waiting, impatient, because he was the last and again he thought of that hourglass, willing for time to reverse but of course it didn't, it never did. He pushed himself to the wooden box, too short to see over the edge only he _had_ to. He was crying again, but then he felt himself be lifted into Mr. Schue's arms and that was the only thing he thought of and he did not mind. He didn't think of the dizzying sensation of being lifted with no support under his legs, feeling ever as if his upper body was going to topple. He didn't think of the people watching, maybe pitying, because didn't they always? He thought only of Tina, and now he could see her, see that glimpse of blue like sapphires in a coal mine, that hidden gem, and his frozen fingers stroked her face, but it wasn't her face, just as he was not himself and Mr. Schue was not Mr. Schue and it was just all wrong. He sobbed ever harder, fingers grasping at that fleeting blue, leaning in for a kiss, but it was just all wrong.

He cried, limply falling over not-Tina, tears staining the unfamiliar dress she was wearing and felt himself get pulled away after that kiss but _NO_ he wasn't done and he didn't get to whisper in her ear that he loved her, like he had always wanted to do but never had the courage, and it was just all wrong, all too late, and oh that damn hourglass that could not reverse! Artie's fingers clutched vainly at the edge of the box, though it was not-Tina that was in that cold thing, and he turned and saw Tina's father pulling at Mr. Schue's arm with her mother off to the side. He felt himself crying, sobbing, but no words could describe it, felt himself falling into his chair, hearing screaming but not recognizing it as his own.

He felt the carpet underneath him, saw his lifeless legs drag across the ground, realizing he was trying to pull himself across the floor and up, but it was too high, that unscalable mahogany wall, sobbing, broken into a million fragments and where was that last puzzle piece, realizing that it was Tina's father all along that was the manufacturer that would not supply his wish. It was him who was roughly pulling him up but not to Tina, to his chair, his hands so unlike Tina's soft touch. He heard the ghost-of-a-man come to life, shouting, arguing, seeing a small crowd gather, realizing, wishing that he could stand and punch that son of a bitch in the face because he would not grant him this, because _he_ didn't love her, only saw her as a commodity that they could get rich out of, wondering how her parents could be so horrible and how they could be related? He desperately reached out, but scratched only on the impenetrable mahogany instead of the soft skin he was longing for.

Tina was gone forever, like the sand crystals that fell from the shards of his broken heart into the ocean of tears that was streaming down his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Glad you enjoyed, guys! Here's another chapter. Sorry for the re-upload of chapter 1, I wanted to fix that last line.

Keep reading and reviewing!

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Artie awoke in the dark, face damp with what could have been sweat or maybe tears, he wasn't too sure. He felt a hard surface underneath him, not his bed, and he propped himself up on his elbows, looking around, feeling on the floor because he was blind in the dark without his glasses. His fingers touched on the familiar hardwood, travelled to his nightstand, felt the frame of his bed and he knew he was on his bedroom floor somehow. Maybe he had fallen off during the night, or maybe he had just collapsed by the bed out of exhaustion. His hand fumbled across the top of his nightstand, eyes squinting in pain because the blisters were still there and he knew it hadn't been a dream.

The realization of this shook him and robbed him of all his energy, and he fell back to the floor, not really crying but more like whimpering, hiccups in his breath and tears streaming down and he wasn't sure what time it was when he started to slow down he reached for his glasses, and his phone, and put the former on his face and pressed a button to light the latter up. He could barely see, eyes blurry from the constant tears. Then he looked up and saw Tina, and saw that she was in that ghastly dress but her face had been cleaned up like it had been _there_, and she was smiling, and she was leaning on his door frame, barefoot. Her leg was elegantly draped over the other, arms and legs bare, only wearing that dress which seemed now to be like only a slip, her hair was down but in waves, coasting down her shoulders, and she looked beautiful except for that dress. That dress that did not smell like her, and was black, not blue and as Artie thought those thoughts she slipped away, her hair twisting and he could see the blue. Then he stood and ran over to the door, and saw her in the hallway, still smiling that ghostly eerie smile and she said his name.

She said his name and it sounded like Mr. Schue a sort of choked whisper but she said it and it gave him strength but then his legs realized that he was, in fact, paralyzed, crippled, and all those other horrible names that Tina never, ever uttered, and he fell to the ground, smashing his chin so that it would probably bruise later, glasses skidding. He didn't fall straight, instead falling to the side so that he crashed into the wall too, getting a view of hardwood and crown moulding but no Tina. Artie let out a sob, raising his head and pulling himself forward but Tina was always just a step away, too far, out of reach, and his arms gave out and he collapsed in the hallway, crying again because it was always that or no emotion and he thought he'd rather have this though it broke his heart.

Artie saw Tina approach and he felt hope, reaching out but his hand passing through and she kept walking, right over him, steps like stabs in his back, and it was a thousand times worse than getting paralyzed. He cried out against the pain, but she kept walking, that ghostly smile still plastered on, he could imagine, as she trod over him, merciless, no sound, only sensation. He somehow felt her walking over his legs, and somehow he could feel it clearly, he was still sobbing, still crying out, it felt like she was snapping every single bone in his body, then she did it again, walking forward until she stood over his head, and she knelt down, that black dress draping over her knees and she kissed him, but it wasn't tender, it wasn't romantic, it wasn't like a kiss. It only scared Artie and he tried to open his mouth and force out 'I love you' but while his lips parted, and he mouthed the words, again nothing, and then he raised his head and found himself staring into those eyes except they were blue like his, then she was gone, dissipated into thin air and he was left to sob on the floor.

He felt himself have a separate conscious, as if he was ensnared in that fine boundary between the real world. He sensed his bedroom around him but he could not surface from his foggy state and he tried to scream, scream for help, or just scream to let the words ring out but nothing happened and he realized he was simultaneously on the floor of that hallway and in his bedroom, and he was frightened, grasping at the floor as if he could find a handhold to surface. Finally, gasping, he found himself in his bedroom, on the floor, no longer sure the distinction between the dream world and his world. Artie just kept sobbing, turning his face to the side, until he heard the creak of door and felt himself lifted back onto his bed.


End file.
